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Helpers
It's a bright, clear day in Iacon, and conditions are perfect for a nice outdoor activity, like the dedication of a new addition to the capital city's chapter of Deltaran Medical. Doctors, technicians, clerks, other types of hospital staff as well as people from around the city are gathered out front, listening to one of Cybertron's most distinguished physicians talk about how grateful he is to the community for their amazing support of the project... Yep, you guessed right. It's Pharma, one of Deltaran's best doctors. If one of the other doctors, even some of the specialists, couldn't do something--Pharma usually could. He's standing in front of a glass podium at the moment, smiling at the crowds. "...thank you all for your generous support of this facility. Without you, none of this would have been possible. Because of you, today even mechs with the rarest and most difficult of conditions have found good health and wellness once again!" Applause erupts from the audience as it expresses its open approval of Deltaran..and of Pharma himself. "Do you ever just want to shoot him?" asks Hot Rod of his companion. He stands removed from the adoring crowd near the lower caste workers who are responsible for construction efforts. "Yeah, he's a smug bastard." The overseer that he's talking to has an eye out for trouble, but Hot Rod only has eyes for Pharma. Hot Rod's gaze narrows. "No, I mean -- literally." The worker looks a bit uneasy. "Uh -- ha ha ha. Anyway, about that extra material--?" "Oh, right." Dragging his gaze away from Pharma, Hot Rod splits his attention between finishing up what sure looks like a kind of shifty deal and watching Pharma soak up the adulation. He can wait out the audience. Finally, the speech is concluded, and the audience disperses, most of them heading back to their daily jobs and lives. Quite a few people start to line up to talk to Pharma himself, and he gives them each a turn before heading back into the DMF himself. After all, he's got a long day of work ahead of him. Lots of patients to treat! "Oh, hey!" One more eager voice among dozens, a belated last to his long line of fans, calls out from behind Pharma. Hot Rod lopes up on his over-sized puppy feet, moving much more lightly than one might expect for someone quite so ... uhm, vibrantly colored. (Except for the whole ... middle bit he still hasn't had repainted, but you know -- times are tough.) "Hey, Pharma, right. Got a sec?" Pharma turns around to find a rather brightly-painted mech approaching him. Ah, he is quite busy, but he supposes he can make time for one more person. He laughs amiably. "Well I've got a long cycle ahead of me but I suppose I can spare a few more moments. What's your name?" "Hot Rod." He settles with shoulders squared, legs braced. He is poised and confident in a way that's just a little bit studied. Lifting his helm with a sharp jerk of his chin, Hot Rod flashes Pharma a megawatt smile. "I've heard a /lot/ about you." "Ah, Hot Rod. Pleased to meet you." Pharma smiles politely and holds out a hand for him to shake. "Yes, I suspected as much. Word certainly gets around, though I don't try too hard to spread it. I just do my job to the best of my ability--sometimes that speaks for itself." Hot Rod takes the offered hand, but rather than a firm clasp and release, he grabs on, and then pulls in. What a rude little thug he is. He smiles less politely. "Yeah. You know, your work really /does/ speak for itself." His voice is quiet. It does not carry far. "And I'd just bet you don't try to spread it. But I'm going to make sure that one day people see you for what you've actually done. I want you to know that. That all of this, all those idiots staring up at you -- like anything /you/ have to say is actually /worth/ something -- limited time. Truth can't be buried forever." Pharma's optic ridges go up at Hot Rod's sudden change in demeanor. He pulls his hands back, shrugging with a little grin. "I'm sorry Hot Rod," he says at a normal level. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I've already told everyone the truth--that is, everyone who cared to -listen-." The winged doctor smirks, tilting his head at Hot Rod's final comments. "Oh, is that so? But how many secrets do -you- have, hm? How many juicy little facts about yourself are there that you -wish- could be buried forever?" Settling back on his heels, Hot Rod folds his arms over his chest. He's all pointy lines, and they all bristle challenge. "A lot less than you, mech." He doesn't even bother to sound defensive. He dismisses the counter-threat with a roll of his shoulders and a smile. "You probably don't even remember what shame is, to be ashamed of what you do, do you?" Pharma's optics widen. "Why would I be ashamed of what I do?" he gestures toward Deltaran. "I -help- people. I sometimes save them from certain death. What do -you- do?" "Why? Uh, maybe because there was the remotest possibility that there was a shred of decency or morality buried way down in your spark, some tiny flickering fraction of remorse tucked deep inside, I don't know," Hot Rod says, like that was /actually/ a question, and not completely rhetorical. "Lie all you like. Some of us have seen enough to know better. Just wanted you to know that. Enjoy the speeches while they last. Some of us really do help people, and sometimes that means telling them the truth." "And I suppose you're one of those people, Hot Rod?" Pharma asks, his optic ridges going up. "I don't suppose you know how many mechs I've saved from near certain death. People who were supposed to be hopeless, beyond salvation. And yet, they weren't. Just have to think about the situation -differently-, I suppose. Shrug off limitations." Limitations like -moral- convictions. Hot Rod's hands clench at his side. "You don't get to play that kind of card! Not when there are good medics out there doing work just as good -- better, even! I bet Ratchet could out-doctor with his eyes shut off! And that's without having his arms bloodied to the elbows by all the disposables you work through just to get your one miracle salvation. So shove it, Pharma!" His voice continues to escalate as he loses his cool, smolder threatening to burst into fire. "Let's see you shrug off the consequences of your actions when they finally come to you!" Pharma chuckles. My, my. This Hot Rod had some serious self-control issues. "Good Primus, who told you -that-?" 'Out-doctor'. Haha. "Mmm, I guess Ratchet -could- be as good as I am. But we never really put that to the test--didn't see a need for it. Our work is no competition." A hot flash of outrage nearly bursts past Hot Rod's already tenuous self-control when Pharma chuckles. He shifts, pulling his shoulder back, but doesn't further wind a punch when a glance past reminds him just how very out of place he is. He instead jerks his shoulder farther back and turns away. "Whatever," he says, his greatest final retort. "Well, it was good talking to you, Hot Rod." Pharma says politely. "Certainly a nice, -interesting- break from the usual boring and professional." he laughs. "Better get back to it, lots of patients to see today. And I'm sure you have plenty of work ahead of you as well...whatever it is you do." Since he never really answered the question of what he does. "Until we meet again!" With that, he returns to the hospital, the doors sliding shut behind him.